Hives
by Klee Wyck
Summary: When the bee stings. GSR.


**Title:** Hives  
**Author:** Klee Wyck  
**Pairing: **GSR  
**Spoilers:** Season 7  
**Rating: **Teen  
**Disclaimer:** _My_ Sara and Grissom are married with children and living somewhere in Canada. _This_ Sara and Grissom aren't mine.  
**Summary: **When the bee stings.

* * *

A/N: This story arose directly from my children's sudden, hysterical, and as yet unfounded, fear of bees.

* * *

Late summer.

Late summer and the sweet, sharp scent of almost fall.

Almost, but not quite.

There's something about summer, even the tail end of it, she thinks.

_So_ sweet.

Back to school supplies.

The low hum of air conditioners.

Children calling to one another, far off.

Tag. Hide and Seek. Marco Polo.

Freshly mown grass.

The easy, insistent drone of insects.

Busy, busy.

Mid-morning sunlight dripping through leaves, dappling the ground around her feet. She's feeling drowsy, pleasantly so.

Sara leans back in the lawn chair, feels the plastic webbing shift beneath her weight. She closes her eyes, toes off her flip flops and smiles.

"Hey! Hey, Sara! Look what I found!" 

He's running across the lawn towards her. He sounds like a little boy who's discovered a snake coiled beneath a rock.

He wants to show her.

He wants her to be pleased.

Sara shades her eyes and smiles.

She squints.

_What the—?_

She sees.

Oh. It's not a snake.

Not even close.

"Wow!" She tries to sound duly appreciative, like someone who is appropriately supportive and encouraging of her lover's latest odd find. "That's a—"

"Hive!"

"Yes! That's what I was going to say."

He comes closer. She recoils in her seat.

"Don't worry. It's empty. I already checked. No wasps left."

"It's—"

"A beauty, right? I know! I found it under the eaves. Right over there!" He points. She follows the site line. She smiles. Appreciatively. "It must be from last winter. Took me an hour to pry it loose."

And here she'd thought he was taking a nap.

Silly Sara.

"That's—"

"Amazing, I know! Look at the craftsmanship!"

"Pretty cool."

"Yeah!" He's positively gleeful. He's full of glee. She smiles.

"You've been—"

"Busy?" he says, laughing.

"Yes!" She laughs back. "Busy—

"—as a bee!" He laughs. Again.

She nods.

"Yes! Yes. Gosh, you have. Ha ha ha!"

She loves him. She loves him so much, but by God. It's a fucking _bee hive_.

He holds it towards her, like it's a goddamn _gift_ or something.

She sighs.

All right.

Because she loves him, that much.

She leans forward, tentatively, for a closer look.

"Yellowjackets, or wasps, commonly build nests below ground in old rodent burrows or other cavities. They can also build nests in trees, shrubs, under eaves, and inside attics or wall voids. This was in the eaves." He's talking very fast. She nods and tries to be…appreciative.

"You mentioned that. _My_ question is how do you _know_—"

"That they're all gone? Well, wasps and bumble bees have annual colonies that last for only one year. The colony dies in the fall with only the newly produced queens surviving the winter. The new queens leave their nests during late summer and mate with males." He's getting rather red in the face. He's still talking very fast. He takes a deep breath. "The queens then seek out overwintering sites, such as under loose bark, in rotted logs, under siding or tile, and in other small crevices and spaces, where they become dormant. These queens become active the following spring when temperatures warm. They search for favorable nesting sites to construct new nests. They do not reuse old nests."

He appears to be done now.

"Wow." She says. "Wow." She pauses. "Wow."

"Yeah!" He says.

"That's really—"

"Fascinating! I know!"

"Grissom—"

"Sara—"

"What's that sound?"

"What—?"

"Ow!"

"What?"

"Ow! Shit! Ow!"

"Sara!"

She pulls her left arm close to her body, winces, then looks down.

Two angry welts on her wrist, one above the other.

Fuck. She's gonna _flatten_ that little fucker—

She looks up at him, tries not to glare, tries not to give him the impression that it's his fault.

"You didn't _kill_ it, did you?"

"Gee…I sure hope not." Her arm is on _fire_.

He smiles, tentatively, pulls the hive a little closer to his body.

"I guess there was still one in there."

She glares. "Yeah."

He pulls the hive even closer.

"Maybe."

* * *

She holds ice in a washcloth against the stings for half an hour and tries to not be angry at him.

She loves him. A lot.

He loves her. A lot.

He also loves bugs.

And insects.

And wasps, apparently, because the hive sits on their dining room table beneath a clear Pyrex bowl.

She tries to not think about that.

"Does it hurt?" he asks as they get ready for bed.

She smiles at him, because she loves him.

A lot.

"They. Plural. There are two. Stings."

"Right." He nods.

"Yes. They _both_ hurt. A lot."

He winces, like he's trying to understand her pain.

She lays down, tries to find a comfortable position for her throbbing arm.

He's all hyped up from his find. He's very worked up. He's excited. She can see it in his eyes. He slides his arms across her stomach, raises his eyebrows, winks.

"You wanna—?"

He winks again.

"No. No. I do not."

He nods.

"You sure—?"

"Yep. I'm sure. Very."

He pauses. He's still worked up.

"Because I was thinking we could try that—"

"Nope. Uh uh."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I actually don't want you to touch me at all right now. I'm in a lot of pain right now."

"Oh." He frowns, pulls his arm away reluctantly. "Really?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I am." She waves her arm at him feebly.

_Shit_ that hurts.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She grits her teeth. Hard. "It's not your fault."

She rolls on her side, away from him, and he wiggles up behind her, his arms around her waist. She's thinking she should get up for more Advil when he starts talking.

"Wasps and the hornets are aggressive insects, really. The wasps usually are located under eaves, so if people look up on their roof, on their gutter line and they see a nest, it's probably a wasp nest. The wasp is one of the larger insects, and they're dark colored. Wasps are more of a problem in the South, and they will sting multiple times, like the yellow jackets."

"Multiple times," Sara mutters.

"Yes! Like yours," he chuckles. _Chuckles_. Sara grits her teeth again.

"Tell me more," she says. "Please. I'm so interested."

"Really?" he says.

"Oh, yes. Very."

"Well," he moves even closer. "Wasps are beneficial because they prey on many insects, including caterpillars, flies, crickets, and other pests." He tugs up the bottom of her shirt, lets his finger drift across her skin. "During late summer and fall, they are more interested in collecting sweets and other carbohydrates. Some wasps may become aggressive scavengers around human food and may be common around outdoor activities where food or drinks are served."

He kisses the back of her neck. She shifts slightly.

"Yellowjackets, baldfaced hornets, and paper wasps make nests from a papery pulp comprised of chewed-up wood fibers mixed with saliva." He lets his tongue find the spot beneath her ear as he kisses her, once, twice. Does she moan? A little, maybe. "Yellowjacket and baldfaced hornet nests consist of a series of rounded combs stacked in tiers. These combs are covered by an envelope consisting of several layers of pulp."

His hand finds her breast. He squeezes gently.

"Honey bees are perennial insects with colonies that survive more than one year." Kiss. "Honey bees form a cluster when hive temperatures approach 57° F. As the temperature drops, the cluster of bees becomes more compact." Kiss. Squeeze. "Bees inside this mass consume honey and generate heat so that those in the cluster do not freeze. As long as honey is available in the cluster, a strong colony can withstand temperatures down to -30° F. or lower for extended periods." Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Squeeze.

Stroke.

Moan.

He nuzzles her shoulder, plants small, moist kisses. She shivers, against her will.

She will never understand this man.

_Ever_.

But, right now she's too horny to try to figure him out.

She flops on her back, presses her lips to his, fumbles for his pajama bottoms.

Fuck the wasps.

Fuck her arm.

Well, not literally.

* * *

"Grissom."

"Hmm…"

"_Grissom_," she hisses. Sort of. She's having a hard time forming words. She's having a hard time moving her lips at all.

She pinches his side.

He startles awake, fumbles for the lamp.

"Yes, dear?"

"I feel…funny."

He squints in the light, squints at her. He squints harder

"You look funny."

And she did. Sort of…puffy.

"What do I look like?" she says.

"Puffy."

"Hmm." She tries to sit up. "What else?"

He leans closer, studies her nearly nude body. "Huh," he says finally.

"What?"

"You're…"

"_What?_" She looks down and sees.

Hives.

She's covered in hives.

Perfect.

Considering.

"Huh," she says.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"Puffy," she says. "Hivey."

"Appropriate," he says.

"Don't say it," she says.

He doesn't.

"Can you breathe?" he asks. She takes a deep breath.

"Yes," she says. "But…my lips."

He leans closer. "Yes. I can see those."

"What?"

"I think I should take you to the hospital."

"All right."

She pulls on a T-shirt and a sweatshirt and follows him down to the front door. He pats the Pyrex bowl as he passes by. Sara stops in the kitchen for a glass of water.

As he slides his feet into his shoes at the front door, she slides the Pyrex bowl and hive into the garbage can and slams the lid, hard.

And she doesn't even feel bad about it.

He talks to her as he drives to Emergency, to keep her calm, she supposes. She leans her puffy, hivey body back against the seat and watches lights a buildings slip by.

"What we're seeing here is a systemic reaction, or anaphylaxis. In these instances, you may have two stings on your hand, for example, and within minutes your lips start to swell. You break out in hives all over. In the worst systemic reactions, people break out in hives, their blood pressure drops, they get dizzy, they throw up and some people will have trouble breathing. Sometimes they will wheeze as well. These reactions are life threatening, and if they occur, you should go to the emergency room."

"Good idea," she says. "Emergency room."

"But you can breathe, right?"

"So far," she says and smiles, because she loves him. A lot.

"Good," he says, and smiles back. He pats her hivey arm. "You're going to _bee_ just fine, _honey_."

A _whole_ lot.

* * *

The doctor tells her pretty much the same thing Grissom told her and gives her a shot of epinephrine.

"You ever been stung before?" he asks.

"Not since I was a kid," she says.

"You have a reaction?" he asks.

"No," says Sara.

"Well, you have one now, ha ha ha."

"She sure does," Grissom agrees, trying to be helpful.

"So, how did this happen?" the doctor asks jovially as he examines Sara's hives.

"Oh, you'll have to ask my boyfriend," Sara says just as jovially.

The doctor looks over at Grissom, who shifts in his chair rather nervously.

"Oh…" he stammers. "Heh. I found this _hive_ … in our eaves…and…"

"You didn't take it _down_ did you?" the doctor laughs. "This is the worst time of year for that. Too hard to tell if they're still inhabited or not, ha ha ha."

"Ha ha ha," says Grissom, loudly.

"Ha ha ha," says Sara, louder.

* * *

The drive home is ominously quiet.

"You know," Grissom begins, "it's a myth that the reaction will get worse with each sting. It's usually the same or milder. So you don't start with a local reaction and then go to hives and then go to, "I can't breathe." Another common myth is that kids outgrow the allergy, which is not true."

"Uh huh."

"Just in case you were worried or anything."

"Oh, I'm not worried about _me_."

He opens the door for her and helps her inside. If he notices the missing hive, he wisely says nothing and follows her up to bed.

"You don't look nearly as puffy," he says gently.

"Thank you," she says.

"You know, several wild bee species build nests in the soil," he whispers into her ear. "They are most common in soils with sparse to moderate plant growth, little organic matter, and good drainage."

"Grissom…it's not gonna work this time."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"How do you feel?" he asks after a moment.

She sighs.

"This reminds me of that movie…"

"Movie?"

"Yeah. We watched it not so long ago."

"We watch a lot of movies. Which one?"

"You know. The one. The one where they have all that _chemistry_ …and they go on for years and year and _years_ without acknowledging the chemistry. Just to tease the audience and keep them guessing."

"Keeps them coming back for more."

"The ratings, you know."

"Yeah."

"_Any_way. These two…they kiss. No. They _almost_ kiss. But she…she gets stung. On the neck! By a bee."

"Oh! Yeah. That sounds…familiar."

"It was _so_ unbelievable."

"And yet, inevitable."

"And she gets a reaction."

"Of course."

"Their goddamn lips were millimeters apart."

"I remember."

"I hate movies."

"Me, too."

"And television."

"Yeah."

"I prefer real life."

"Really."

He leans down and gently, tenderly kisses her not quite as puffy, swollen lips.

"I love you Mulder," she mumbles.

"I love you, too, Scully."

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
